Pertaining To The Notions of Kinship and Fidelity
by DecepticonLiberty
Summary: the trials and sufferings of Loki upon his return to the eternal realm. With the Tesseract finally out of the young god's reach, Thor hopes his brother will return to his former self, despite his verbal insistence that Loki is nothing more than an enemy to him now. Can the Silvertongue be redeemed? Or has he ventured so far down a dark path that even he cannot find a way out?
1. Through The Proverbial Rabbit Hole

Pertaining to the Notions of Kinship and Fidelity

Chapter 1

Loki's P.O.V

Light engulfs me as the Tesseract energy consumes both Thor and myself. The sensation of traveling through space and time on the Bifrost is much more pleasant than this, I think to myself as we are roughly pulled from Midgard. Good riddance. I feel raw energy attempting to rip every atom from my being. It starts as a tingling sensation dancing on the surface of my skin but quickly develops into a much more intense pain as we travel across the unforgiving braches of Yggdrasil. The tingles becomes sharp stabbing pains working their way under my skin and then spreading throughout my entire form. I stiffen and, if not for the muzzle that my brother has so graciously obliged me with, I probably would have given a yelp. Apparently, Thor senses my discomfort, or perhaps he feels me stiffen, which wouldn't be too improbable because as we lifted off the human realm one of his colossal arms gripped my shoulders and pulled me into his chest. Now he holds me tighter, whether to comfort me or to make me aware of the fact that I cannot escape I do not know, but I am now more alerted to the latter and I feel panic creeping up my spine and infiltrating the place where my heart once dwelt. It has abandoned the empty shell that is my body many years ago. But as I begin to tremble, whether it is from the pain of the Tesseract's power or from fear of Odin is debatable, I believe it to be a mixture of both, Thor speaks to me for the first time since my defeat.

"We are almost home, prepare yourself, Loki", he says to me through his teeth. The power of the raw energy must be affecting Thor too, or perhaps he is so furious at my actions on his precious Earth that he can barely utter a sentence to me without danger of releasing all his anger. I try to look up at his face so as to peer into his eyes, the oaf has always been the most open of books, and find that I cannot lift my head no matter how much effort I put into it. The pressure from the Tesseract energy must be holding us firmly in place. Prepare yourself…that is what Thor had muttered to me, but prepare for what? The harsh impact that was sure to come as we descended to Asgard? Or maybe the even harsher punishment from Odin that must be waiting for me? I open my mouth, readying to ask Thor these very questions, when suddenly there is no more pain threatening to rip me apart molecule for molecule, and no more pressure to prevent me from moving as I pleased. Our descent into Asgard has been instantaneous, there was nothing to prepare for, and now I know what Thor meant by 'prepare yourself'. Fear takes my breath away and I begin to choke on it. No. NO! I think to myself, you will not give Thor the pleasure of seeing you in this pathetic state and nor will you give it to Odin. I take a breath to steady myself and then stand in as proud a stance as I can muster, masking the fear with a callous look of superiority.

Thor stands beside me, no longer clutching my shoulders but instead attempting to steady himself from our rough journey. I look around. We are on palace grounds, in one of the many gardens. A tree stands to my left, it is in full bloom for the spring. The trunk is thick and sturdy. Leaves of all different shades of green whistle in the light breeze, creating a cool shade for any who choose to rest under it. I should know. I had spent many an hour as a boy under this tree, reading books on magic spells, sleeping, plotting against any who taunted me, hiding whenever Thor tried to entangle me in one of his fruitless adventures. Oh how badly I desire to be in the comforting shade of my tree once more! I release the handle I have on the Tesseract and reach with my left hand, thinking of nothing but the coolness of the bark on the strong trunk, and am surprised when my right had obediently follows the left. Yes, that's right. I think to myself as I see the cuffs that bind my wrists. I am no longer a boy free to sleep his days away under a tree. I am a man now. No, not a man, being a man would imply humanity of some kind, of which I have none. Monster. Now that is a term that amply describes my existence. The existence of a Frost Giant. Of a liar. Of a murderer.

I am still reaching out to my tree when the guards descend on me. Four of them, although it feels like much more with all the hands groping me, to be exact. They remove the muzzle and the cuffs, none to gently, only to replace them with heavy chains. Two thick cuffs wrap around my thin wrists and ankles and a fifth encases my neck. An impossibly heavy link chain attaches them all to each other. It takes all the strength I can muster to lift my head up high as I resume my stance of superiority. I will not let this obvious attempt at humiliation phase me. The guards begin the short walk to the throne room and, when I do not immediately follow, one of them jerks the chain roughly. I fall to my knees. For a moment, I hold my gaze firmly on the ground beneath me trying to maintain my persona. My desire to thrash and yell damnations to all in ear shot nearly overpowers my better judgment. Calm yourself I think over and over again, breathing heavily through my nose, clearing my head. As I am doing so, I remember my desire to look at Thor's face, into his eyes to find the truth there. If there was one thing I could count on it was that Thor's eyes never lied. I pull my head up, despite the heavy chain's resistance, searching for the truth that I knew would calm me, but it is nowhere. Thor had gone. He had left me in the care of a handful of cruel guards and was forcing me to face Odin alone. In all our years together, though boyhood and through manhood, I had never been abandoned by my brother. Mocked? Yes. Belittled? Oh, yes. Teased? Absolutely. Encouraged? I could not deny it, yes. Protected? Also, yes. Saved? I let out a snarl and refuse to think of him anymore. Thor is not my brother so it is time he stopped acting like he was. He is my captor, nothing more.

'Then why does his betrayal hurt you so?' A voice that sounds frighteningly like my own asks. I do not answer it.

This time, when the chain is jerked, I obey the silent command, standing and taking one step at a time towards the throne room. I don't remember my boots ever being this heavy before. I turn my head as far left as I can, without causing immense pain to my neck, to look at my tree one last time. I see a dark haired Asgardian prince sitting under it. He is content. At peace. Suddenly, there is another boy. This boy is older, stronger, blond. Together, they sleep under the tree, taking refuge in the coolness the leaves provide and letting their song lull them into a state of dreams.

I do not know who these boys are, but I hate them both.


	2. A Trial And A Quarrel

It takes longer than it should to get to the throne room from the garden, I suspect it is because the guards are intentionally parading me through the palace corridors, allowing noblemen and warriors and ladies of the court to revel in my degradation. Some point, some glare, some openly jeer, but their cruel mocking only causes an amused smile to spread across my face. They are nothing but simpletons and fools. They follow blindly in Odin's footsteps, and would gladly follow in Thor's, but the people of Asgard know nothing of the worlds in between the branches of Yggdrasil. They know nothing of the Chitauri, of The Other. Of Thanos.

Thanos. The Eternal. The Titan. The Lover of Death. His promise rings in my ears. If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevasse, we can't find you. I feel the familiar tingle of pain creeping up on me once more, you think you know pain? We will make you long for something sweet as pain! The threat of falling to my knees once more brings my aching legs to a halt. There I stand, a disgraced and shackled former prince of Asgard, nothing more than an alien spectacle in the place I once called home. Calm I think to myself again, Calm yourself. I search for logic, which has so often been my sole companion, to stop the panic from consuming me. The Chitauri were dead, obliterated by the Midgardian weapon I believe they called an 'Atomic Bomb', and if they have not been completely annihilated then they must be severely depleted in numbers. Even the Chitauri are not so doltish as to invade Asgard in their current state. As long as I remain in this realm, no harm will come to me.

Well, no harm will come at the hand of Thanos, I think to myself as the guards and I approach the prodigious golden doors of the Throne room. How many times have I entered through these doors in my life? Thousands, probably. The memory of my last visit to this illustrious room is clear in the forefront of my mind. I was a king then, if only for a fleeting moment. What had gone wrong? That question is easily answered. Thor. He is what went wrong. My so-called brother has always been a hindrance. He'd always out-shown me, always been father's favorite. How that blathering oaf manages to continue defeating me is a mysterious I fear I will never solve. I feel hot, molten rage pour through my veins and I welcome it, letting the anger banish the fear in my bones. I dig through my mind in search of more defeating events to feed my fury on. There are many. I have always been a shadow. An unwanted shadow. I pull my face into a threatening sneer and allow the animosity in my murky heart to shine through my eyes. I am no longer were a mask, instead I allow my true feelings to be palpable on my face. What a rare occurrence this is. So often I hide my thoughts from those around me. By the time I am able to tear my attention from the dark memories I'd lost myself in, I am being presented to the Allfather, cloaked in gold as he sits in his mighty throne, and he is not alone.

Frigga stands to the left of his mighty throne. She seems to have aged in my absence, but remains beautiful and regal as ever, dressed in a flowing pale blue gown. Could my supposed death have caused her such distress that it'd become detectable on her face? Or was it her shame at being the woman who raised such a monster that made her deteriorate? I suspect the latter. Even so, her presence calms me and I feel some of the rage melt from my face. I hate her for having this effect on me. No, it is not hate, at least not like the hate I possess for Odin or Thor. I cannot despise Frigga like I do them, for she alone had accepted me.

"Mother" I whisper, with a smirk and a slight bow. This seems to only cause her more anguish because she lets out a strained whimper and runs from the room, tears on her cheeks. My hot rage is replaced with a cold abhorrence, but it is not for the woman I call mother. I now realize why her appearance and her distraught reaction to my presence cause such a stirring of emotion within me. This loathing I feel is not directed at Frigga, but rather at myself for creating so much anxiety within her. I smile, I cannot help it, at the irony of the situation. Frigga is the only one whom I would have liked to spare from my wrath, and, yet, she seems to be the one most hurt by it.

"You take delight in the misery of the only one who still cares for you?" the voice of the Allfather booms. It has been some time since I have heard his voice and I've forgotten the power with which it carries through the air. His words are meant to wound me but they do not. Maybe once, in a past life, before my journey to Jotunheim that day, Odin's contemptuous words would have been like a sharpened scythe to my then susceptible heart, but I have experienced many things since then and what is left of my dark heart is not so nearly as fragile as it once was. His pathetic attempt to injure me only makes me grin ear-to-ear.

"No, however I do take delight in knowing how much you fear me Allfather" I sneer as I lift up the heavy chains, "what other reason would you have for such overstated restraints?"

"Perhaps it is the final attempt of an aged man to teach his foolish son some humility" The booming voice speaks, not faltering in its calmness.

"Well then you have failed, Odin!" I'm screaming now, despite my efforts to remain apathetic. This man and all his hypocrisy threaten to destroy whatever of my sanity remains.

"Yes" The Allfather takes his harsh gaze off me for a moment and I see an array of emotions flash on his worn face. Anger. Grief. Resignation. Disappointment. "I have"

"Do not try my patience any longer!" I'm shaking with rage. I want to scream profanities at my supposed father, I want to damn him to Hel, but instead I speak through my teeth to keep myself from giving into these desires, "Tell me what you, Allfather, in all your just wisdom, will pass down to me as punishment."

"Do you regret nothing, Loki? Not all the lies you have told nor all the blood you have shed?"

All my anger is released. All the rage I have accumulated for this deceitful old man over my painful existence flows out now. I lunge towards the throne, only to fall to my hands and knees when the guards wrench my chains back. I do not care and continue to pull forward, the pain in my shoulders as they threaten to tear from their sockets barely registers in my mind. Hot tears blur my vision, tickling my cheeks as they roll down my face and plop onto golden floor.

"You claim such benevolence Odin and are so quick to call me Liesmith and Silvertongue and murderer, and yet it is you have been lying to me from the beginning! It is you who took me from my home and made me believe I was a prince when truly I had no right to the throne! It is you who professed to love me when you so clearly favored Thor! And it is you who have slaughtered so many across the nine realms that I could never hope to match you! Do not think you can simply wash your hands of me, Allfather! Your crimes are responsible for the creation of the monster you see now."

By the end of my hate-fueled rant, I am spent. All my rage is gone and I am left with nothing but a dry mouth and a sore throat. The screams of detestation I directed at Odin have not phased him. He remains seated on his throne, face impassive. The room is silent except for the heavy breaths I take as I attempt to catch my breath, until Odin begins to speak;

"I have lost all hope that the boy I knew still lives" he says this in a barely audible voice before rising from the throne, scepter in hand. The boy you knew was an illusion, I think to myself. When he speaks again his voice is back to its intimidating boom.

"What remains of him is a creature I do not recognize. A creature that needs to pay a penance for the damage he has cause to the nine realms" I do not rise from my knees, but I straighten my back and raise my chin up high in a final bid to appear in control. "Frigga clings to you like the mother of a drowned child, but she is too late to save you. She begs for leniency in consideration of your punishment, but after your display I now realize I cannot indulge her." A tired sigh escapes the Allfather's lips. I can feel my heart pounding in fearful anticipation, but I keep my expression apathetic. "For all the pain you have caused, you will receive one hundred lashes in the public square. After this, as retribution for the lies you have uttered, your ability to speak will be taken from you until I deem you have learned the responsibility that comes with having a voice. Lastly, you will be confined to the palace dungeons where you will live the rest of your wretched existence without magic. I, Odin Allfather, declare this to be a right and just punishment for you, Loki Laufeyson."

I feel as if I am in a daze as my magic seeps out of my pores. My mind seems to be floating while my body is heavy. I feel my mask of impassiveness ooze off, leaving a shocked expression on my face. I was expecting a harsh punishment, it is the only way for Odin to appease the many realms I have wronged, but truly knowing that I am doomed to suffer for the remainder of my days fills me with terror. Again I turn to logic to find consolation. I think of Thanos and the Other and the promise of pain he made me. What Odin has decreed is merely a fraction of what my once-allies have promised. And if I am to remain in the dungeons for the rest of my life than Thanos will not be able to touch me. Yes, the Allfather's punishment could work to my advantage. Somewhere in the back of my brain I hear Odin air a dismissal to the guards and my chains begin to strain against my limbs once more.

Before I can still my tongue, I am voicing thoughts I didn't know I had.

"You have been waiting for this day since the moment you brought me from Jotunheim haven't you?" I hiss, but the venomousness and rage that carried in my voice before is gone now and all that remains is the shaky cry of a disciplined child.

The Allfather holds up his left hand and the guards halt. For a moment there is silence and I can see Odin forming his thoughts into words. I gaze up at him impatiently as anxiety rises in my throat. I do not understand why. I do not understand why Odin continues to have this effect on me. I have long since ceased regarding him as anything but a traitor and an enemy, and I care not for his opinion of me! Or at least I should not. And yet here I am, begging like a child for his father's approval. I am truly a pathetic creature.

"Many years ago I found a babe abandoned in Jotunheim. Alone, he would not have survived. Despite your erroneous notions as to why I did this, Loki, my intentions were pure. I wanted to save not only the babe, but also the many lives I knew may one day depend on his survival. So I took him, and raised him as my own, as a prince. The babe grew into an intellectual and brilliant young man and, although he differed from the others of the realm, his family's love for him was great." I scoff at this, why do you continue to lie to the Liesmith, Odin? "For reasons I do not fully understand, the young man, my son, was not satisfied with the love he was given and attempted to end his life in the dark abyss of space. I do not believe the man I raised survived the black chasm into which he fell. Odinson passed and you, Loki Laufeyson, emerged. I do not want to regret rescuing the Frost Giant babe that day, but after all the destruction and death you have caused throughout the nine realms I find it difficult not to."

"Ah the truth, is it not liberating?" is my only response to the Allfather's long oration, but if I am honest with myself, and I hope I can at least be honest with myself, I am not saying these words for Odin's sake. I had not been expecting any other answer than what I had been given, and finally receiving an ounce of sincerity from the man I once called father allotted me a minute amount of mollification.

With a wave of a hand the guards are again dragging me from the throne room. I do not give Odin the pleasure of seeing me struggle. Instead, I laugh, I'm not sure at what, and the vibrations beat against the illustrious golden walls. Perhaps the many years I have spent seeking the approval of lesser beings has finally driven me into an expanse of lunacy so convoluted that there is no hope of return to a form of lucidity in any capacity. Very well then. What reason have I to cling to sanity when the deliriousness of insanity is so much more appealing? All that awaits me in awareness is eternal pain and loneliness, whether in the grip of Thanos or Odin or the Avengers.

At the thought of the meddling mortals that had beaten me so severely any displaced levity I'd been feeling vanishes and is replaced by an odd sensation of…I'm not sure what. I want to be angry. I am angry, for being too easily bested by mere Midgardians, even if said humans were a band of assassins, geniuses and genetic freaks. I want to want revenge for my humiliating defeat, and yet, only relief finds me. Relief for escaping the cruel clutch of the Chitauri. Relief for finally being able to rest without the Other crawling, slithering, poking, wriggling, lurking in the shattered pieces of my mind.

Midgard, Earth, what a pathetic place it is. Even in my short romp on the realm of man I have already become disillusioned with it. Humans are unintelligent and weak and yet presume to know the most intricate and delicate secrets of the universe. Arrogant, Swollen-headed varmints the lot of them. They poison their world and drain its resources without fear of the impeding consequences. Yes, the planet would likely implode within the next millennia. The influence of the Tesseract had made Midgard seem like a hidden treasure. I scowl, it had been all too easy for The Cube to overpower my logic, my reason, my sense. My mental state when I first fell into the realm of the Chitauri was fragile at best, and Thanos was able to play my emotions through the threat of pain and the promise of power. I do not regret my actions on Earth - what do a few hundred human lives matter in the span of the universe? - but I am ashamed at the ease with which my intellect succumbed to the will of my tormentors.

A bright light shifts my attention back to reality and I realize we are outside. I squint as my eyes adjust to the harshness of the glimmering Asgardian sun. It is the height of summer in the eternal realm and I can feel my skin protest at the heat. I had always preferred frigidity. Dark shapes begin to take form as my light eyes accommodate to the dazzling daylight. The first object that meets my abused pupils is a large metal square column. It is rusted and stained with blood. It is the whipping post.


	3. A Blood Penance Owed

My first instinct is to struggle against my bonds but I resist this appealing urge as I take in the rest of my surroundings. The whipping post is positioned in the center of the public square and it seems as if all Asgard has showed up to witness the humiliation of the Silvertongue. Aesir from every social class have gathered here today, I briefly wonder if this is because Odin has decreed it to be so or if it is because I am truly so hated that every soul in this realm would enjoy to see me suffer. I realize it is the latter as I make eye contact with many of the lower class I pass by on my way to punishment. The peasants have swarmed like bugs around the post, encompassing it completely. A small path is made by the guards that hold my leash so that I may be dragged through the crowd with being harmed. However, this doesn't stop their whispered comments about my blood from meeting my ears nor their spit from hitting my boots. _How dare they treat the rightful ruler of Asgard this way_! I think as white hot rage builds inside my chest and reveals itself on my face. I snarl at every peon, plebe and serf I pass.

All too soon I am at the center of the square, facing the whipping post. It is much more daunting up close. The metal is dark and jagged. Rust has begun to work its way up from the base and seems to have been allowed to spread freely. Heavy chains where my wrists will soon be locked rest on either side of the column. The stench of pungent blood stings at my nose and I can see deep red stains on the post and splatters of red on the ground surrounding it. I want to tremble, I want to be afraid, but I am too proud to show Asgard that they have succeeded in their attempt to defeat me, so I arch my back and square my shoulders and wait to be mutilated.

I am so tense that when Odin's voice booms from above me I can't help but jump. I have failed to notice that all the noble class and royalty have made themselves comfortable on the balconies and rooftops of the buildings surrounding the public square. Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun and many other reputable warriors have claimed an audience with the Allfather on the highest balcony of the tallest building. To Odin's left stands Thor, Mjolnir in hand, and to his right should stand the Queen of the Nine Realms. But Frigga is not there. For a moment I feel abandoned, mother's steady gaze had always calmed me in times like these and her presence during this…event would have been appreciated, but as I work through these feelings I realize I ought to be glad she is absent. If the very sound of my voice is enough to bring tears to her eyes as they did in the Throne room then I have no doubt that witnessing my Jotun blood shredded from my body would kill her. And no matter how much I might claim otherwise, I do not want her dead. My gaze turns to Thor. You should be with mother I want to shout to him. It is cruel to leave her in such a melancholy mood, and I would have preferred him not to bear witness to my degradation.

Do I want you dead? I ask Thor in my mind. I have attempted to take your life more than once in recent years, but I cannot lie to myself by saying that I put all my effort into doing so. You are simple and vain and I am still angry with you for not accompanying me into the throne room to face your father, but I must reluctantly admit that much of my anger towards you was displaced for one reason or another. My mental collapse when first I was told of my parentage made me panic which clouded my judgment severely, and the Chitauri's…persuasions made my memory foggy, made me hate my once-brother. I do still hate you Thor. I hate how Odin favored you, I hate the ease with which you battle, I hate how everything in your perfect little world is so black and white. But I do not want you dead, because even through all the wrongdoings you have committed against me throughout our lives, they have been committed innocently. It is like blaming a child for hoarding his toys even though he has not learned to share. A smile pulls apart my thin lips, even though I try to hid it, at my imaginary monologue to my brother because I know I will never have the – I don't know, patience? Courage? – to say these things to his face. In a brave moment, I meet his blue eyes with my green ones and all I see is a sea of coldness. And perhaps he would never care to listen to me now regardless. Good for him, it is about time he saw the God of mischief and lies in his true form.

"I hope this punishment will teach you a lesson of humbleness, Loki Laufeyson" I hear Odin speak as he finishes what I suppose has been a long speech he'd orated as I daydreamed a conversation with my imaginary brother.

No longer than two seconds after the Allfather has ceased speaking I feel a harsh kick to the back of my left leg and I fall to my knees with a soft thud. My heavy chains are quickly removed but I find no relief in this. Already, sounds of approval waft up from the crowd. The guards remove my coat first, then my wrist guards and continue to pull at my clothing until I am bare chested and all that remains of my attire is my trousers and boots. My bent legs are situated on either side of the post and my arms are stretched around it and then bound to the shackles high above my head. A fine tremble begins in my shoulders and spreads to all my limbs causing my shackles to jingle. Odin and his bootlickers are seated to my right and I crane my neck to give the Allfather a cold, but steady, unwavering glare. I am not afraid of you or your punishment.

I hear footsteps approaching from behind but I do not need to turn my steely gaze from Odin to know who it is. I have been to a couple of public whippings in my life, they are rare since this punishment is only reserved for traitors, both have been gruesome blood baths, but the Flogger is the clearest part of my memories of these events. He is a large man, tall and muscular. If Thor was without his hammer, the Flogger might stand a chance at defeating him. His strength with a whip was known to split skin to the bone. He is clad in black leather from head to toe, even his face is covered in the dark material. Only his eyes were spared from the dark fabric, and they were an icy, lifeless gray. The footsteps stop and I know the Flogger has taken his position and that any moment now I would hear the crack of the whip and feel the sting against my exposed flesh. Calm. Stay calm. I try to tell myself but my shaking limbs refuse to acknowledge this command. I focus on Odin, making sure to hone the loathing in my eyes. A deafening silence falls over the crowd as the anticipation escalates. Beads of sweat form on my forehead and the jingling of my shackles loudens. The heat beats down on my naked back causing it to prickle.

I hear the snap of the whip as it flies through the air and the noise of exasperation the Flogger utters as he concentrates all his strength into one shifting motion of his right arm. Agony dances across the tender muscles of my back and dissipates throughout my convulsing body. I arch reflexively and lean on the post for support, the coolness of the metal is a comfort against my chest. My vision blurs and I swear I can see stars. For a moment I think my ears are ringing but then I realize it is the sound of my own tortured scream that assaults my ears. Damn. So much for remaining strong and fearless. I take slow, deep breaths while attempting to still my shaking figure, I rest my moist forehead against the post. With a final long breath, I turn my gaze back to Odin, his callous gaze meeting my hate-filled ones. Give me your worst.

The Flogger allows the full force of the lash to settle through my already aching form, while I wait for the next blow I can feel hot, thick blood trickling down my back. I estimate the new wound spreads from my right scapula to my right hip. Every slight movement brings new waves of agony searing throughout my throbbing torso, even breathing is a painful challenge. I try to focus on something else, anything else, than the pain. I become aware of the crowd. Some are hooting, some are clapping. The sound of my screams and the sight of my blood has driven the masses mad with entertainment. I hear an occasional voice rise above the crowd, demanding the Flogger continue with the whipping. These people were once my peers, my friends. I hate them all. The cruel ignorance of Asgard is almost too much to bear. How I ever lived among these fools is a mystery to – suddenly I am screaming again. Lost in my thoughts I had not heard the clip of the whip before it struck me once again. This lash hurts more than the last. I imagine it is because I had not braced myself for it, and because this new lesion overlaps the former. Once again, my vision darkens as blistering pain travels through my tissue. The Flogger has only administered two lashes, ninety-eight more to go. It wasn't possible, I would not survive this. Odin had served me a death sentence and I didn't even know it. I panic now, not ready to die, not like this. My breaths become quick and shallow. I'm glad I was forced on my knees because I doubt I could have remained standing. I do not look at the Allfather, I do not have any will left to muster a hateful sneer, instead I rest my head against the post and close my eyes. I focus on steadying my breath, I will not let the last hours of my life be spent in crazed hysteria.

When the warnings sound of impeding agony reaches my ear, I am ready for it. The whip splits open my skin yet again, but this time I only allow a low hiss to escape my lips. You will not die a screaming wretch I tell myself you will not give Odin the satisfaction. I feel as if my teeth are in danger of chipping because I am clenching them so tightly. As I regain my sense of sight once more, I turn to the Allfather. I know that my eyes only convey my high level of wryness but this doesn't stop me. When I am met with the same distant blue eye a wave of disappointment washes over me. I do not know why, I do not know what I am hoping for, why I expect to see anything but detestation in those eyes. I can feel a fresh batch of loathing and hate rising within me, but it is quickly squashed with another lash of the whip; this time I cry out, unabashed. I can hear the splatter of my blood on the pavement and can feel it oozing down my back and down my trousers, staining them a deep burgundy.

The Flogger finds a steady rhythm, administering a lash about ninety seconds or so. As the day progresses, the sun's high position cooks my fair skin. The saltiness of my sweat brings a new kind of pain to my open wounds. As the whipping continues the pain worsen. Laceration over laceration decorates my pale hide but I'm sure the whiteness of my skin has been covered by smears of blood. There is no relief between the lashes, in the hotness of the day I can feel the gashes on my back begin fester. With each sting of the whip my vertebrae curves in agony and I throw my head back to let out an ear shattering wail. I convulse and writhe and whimper, long since giving up any attempt to appear unyielding. I loose count after twenty-eight flays or so, and I begin to howl. The pain has clouded my mind, and I know I will be dead long before the Flogger reaches his commanded number, there is no point in keeping track anyway. I barely register the wild cheers of the populace, or the sound of my own blubbering. Am I begging for mercy? I desperately hope not, but my mind is too clouded by the harsh flagellations of the Flogger that I haven't the energy to appear in control. I feel as if I have been chained to this column for a lifetime. Each lapse between lashes feels like hours to my tortured body. In my mind I am begging for mercy, for death, for anything to end the agony. Whatever will I have left is used to make certain I don't voice these pathetic thoughts.

Slowly, my vision blackens, and does not return, I do not know if I have truly been blinded by the calamity assaulting my back or if my eyes have simply closed and refuse to open. The noise of the rowdy crowd seems to be farther away, as does the sounds of my own distresses sobs. How many lashes have a received? Surely close to one hundred, surely….I barely acknowledge the Flogger or his rhythmic strikes. The pain seems somehow duller, and I realize I am close to death. Finally, the torment will cease. The numbness of death encases me in a warm embrace and I race into it like a child runs into his mother's arms. I heave out one final gasp of air before slumping over the whipping post, loosing awareness completely.


End file.
